


Grimm Post

by fleurofthecourt



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, mail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurofthecourt/pseuds/fleurofthecourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Checking his mail was part of his routine. Not the same time everyday, mind you. He wasn’t that anal. But it was always around the same time. A fact for which, down the road, he would be infinitely grateful, if he’d ever stopped to think about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grimm Post

Checking his mail was part of his routine. Not the same time everyday, mind you. He wasn’t that anal. But it was always around the same time. A fact for which, down the road, he would be infinitely grateful, if he’d ever stopped to think about it. 

_October 13, 2011_

Today’s fare was fairly run of the mill. Heating bill--standard, didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes. Coupons for the local pizzeria, over one block--he never went. A request from Brown University for him to donate to them--it wasn’t like he’d paid them an arm, and a leg, and a torso worth of tuition. An advertisement for the local high school’s production of _Into the Woods_ \-- that seemed like new territory--worth a few blinks. _Phone bill_. 

He gave a derisive snort at the last one. Hardly anyone called him, and he hardly called anyone. And it was all business. He figured the bill would be small, but that didn’t really make him feel better. 

He shuffled through the mail again, hoping for one hint that he had a friend in the world. But there was none. Ah, well, such was the life of the reformed Blutbad. He figured he’d go through the same disappointing rigamarole tomorrow. Then, with a defeated sigh, he walked back inside to his workbench and fell into his work. 

 

_October 28, 2011_

He brought his mail in at the usual time, sure. But due to this presumptuous, gung-ho Grimm, he had spent the time he normally would have spent looking at it sitting in a police cruiser. 

Although he tried working on his clocks after everyone had left, he spent most of his evening reeling from the fact that Grimms weren’t just the monster under his bed as his folks had always professed. It was a little difficult to wrap his head around. He figured that at least the charges against him had been dropped, and he’d never see that guy again. 

It was _hours_ later when he noticed the envelopes still scattered all over his staircase. 

A check for a commission from a nice older lady, an eisbiber -- he wondered what _this_ Grimm would accuse her of. A small postcard advertising a missing child--not the same one, he hoped -- but, God, did that guy have a lot of nerve. It was like he suspected him just because he was a Blutbad, which, he supposed if he took a step back from the situation and looked at it objectively was completely fair. But he wasn’t like that and the prejudice of it annoyed him. 

In utter frustration, he gathered the rest of his mail into a stack and moved it onto his desk to go through later. He had other things to take care of. After all, he’d gotten wind of another Blutbad in the area. 

_November 25, 2011_

It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and therefore, he’s unsurprised by the sheer volume of Black Friday sales ads and coupons that come spilling out of his mailbox. However, he found, tucked beneath a flier offering the full series of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ for seventy dollars, a small blue envelope bearing a return address to a N. Burkhardt. 

Monroe was half afraid to open it. He was still upset that Nick had thought it was an okay thing to intervene in his personal relationships, no matter how fraught with problems, like murder and the past tense, said relationships were. 

_I'm sorry I pushed you on Angelina. It's just that it's my job. I'll try to stop pestering you and do my own research._

_Nick_

He was relieved at that for a moment. Or, at least, he thought he was relieved. But there was a traitorous voice in the back of his head telling him that Nick may be a nuisance, but he was _his nuisance_. And he realized, much to his chagrin, that he'd be more than a twinge disappointed if he never showed up again, without any warning, demanding his help and expertise. Honestly, he admitted to himself, it was good to feel needed. Not that he’d ever tell Nick that... 

_January 2, 2012_

He was half done with the bittersweet task of taking apart his model train set when he remembered that he ought to go collect his mail. 

Considering the past couple days had been holidays, he wasn’t too surprised that there wasn’t much. He’d had a surplus the past few weeks of commission requests for Christmas presents and clients sending him Christmas cards. There had been a few of those from relatives as well, but those had mostly reminded him that despite his fierce love for the holiday, he ultimately ended up spending it alone. There was a part of him that thought the decorations were just to help with the loneliness, but he tried to ignore that feeling. 

In between another flier for the pizzeria and a sweepstakes entry form, he found what looked to be a Christmas card from Nick. He thought it was a little odd that it was only from Nick, and not from Nick and his girlfriend, but he shrugged that thought aside. 

He blinked a few times after he opened it; it was handmade. He unfolded the cream colored, old feeling parchment paper into a full sheet. 

_Merry Christmas, Monroe_

_And thanks again for helping with finding Holly. I know you didn’t really want to go out there, and you didn’t have to._

_Nick_

Below the script was a small, quickly done sketch of his train set. 

Monroe smiled, a warm fuzzy feeling settling inside his chest.


End file.
